


salt water

by loveclouds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 18:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveclouds/pseuds/loveclouds
Summary: Iwaizumi can only think to run away from their impossible closeness for a while and finds himself employed at a beachside cafe. Of course, Oikawa follows.





	salt water

\---

 

“Are you okay with that box?” Oikawa asks, head tilted back, looking at him over his shoulder. 

 

He’s balanced not so well on the stairs and Iwaizumi half-stumbles forward with the heavy box of bowls and plates clutched between his arms. He bumps Oikawa with the box, then keeps it there against his butt, just in case Oikawa wants to go for a backwards tumble and Iwaizumi’s weird neuroses about Oikawa’s well-being get to go for a ride. 

 

Oikawa rests his much lighter box of curtains and sheets on a bent knee, reaching behind himself to pick out a piece of fluff from Iwaizumi’s hair. “We can switch if it’s too heavy for you, muffincakes.”

 

“Watch me push you down these stairs, asshole,” Iwaizumi says without much heat. They’ve been moving for an hour solid now and while it’s mostly just boxes left, that last journey up the stairs with their mattresses really took it out of him. 

 

“Should we take a 15 minute break after this?” Oikawa offers, running the back of his hand across Iwaizumi’s forehead to wipe away some sweat.

 

“Will we get back up if we sit down, though?” Iwaizumi wonders. Oikawa hums in thought, hand curled warm and solid around Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “And where the hell did Matsukawa and Hanamaki go to?”

 

Oikawa groans, giving Iwaizumi’s cheek a gentle poke. “Do you think we’ll still need to buy them dinner if they’re not actually here to help us move?”

 

“Heck yeah you do!” Hanamaki cries, suddenly appearing and jogging over with a guilty grin on his face. “Though you know, maybe you guys would get more moving done if you didn’t stand around to flirt the whole time.”

 

“What the hell? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”

 

“ _Someone_ got lost in Tokyo station _again._ ” Matsukawa just shrugs and disappears into the moving truck in answer to Hanamaki’s pointed glare and Iwaizumi decides not to ask, realizing that Hanamaki, who honestly is almost never late for things, probably had a whole journey and a half trying to get here to help them move. Oh well, it was really only an hour anyway, and it was kind of nice listening to Oikawa chatter on about all the things he wanted to decorate the apartment with.

 

“My kids are getting so big,” Hanamaki says with an exaggerated sniff, taking the box of plates and bowls from Iwaizumi’s hands. “Woah, this is heavy. You know you’re supposed to pack these things in separate boxes for easier transportation, right? Such moving noobs. Oi, Iwaizumi. Are you ignoring me?”

 

His arms feel noodley from exertion. Iwaizumi sighs, running the backs of his knuckles along the outside of Oikawa’s thigh to nudge him up. 

 

“Flirt later, let me up the stairs,” Hanamaki complains, and Matsukawa finally comes over to smack him on the head, entire kotatsu somehow strapped to his back.

 

“Uh,” Oikawa says, staring at it with round eyes.

 

“Hi there,” Hanamaki crows, “well aren’t you strong. Come around these parts often?”

 

“I’m going to make new friends in university and never talk to you guys ever again,” Oikawa decides.

 

\---

 

Six months away from graduation, six months away from the end of their shared apartment lease, six months away from After University, Iwaizumi wakes up one morning and realizes he’s going to be painfully, uselessly in love with Oikawa for the rest of his life. 

 

It’s not a shocking revelation. He isn’t surprised by it--he’s old enough now, with enough questionable years with Oikawa under his belt, to know he’s got it bad.

 

Iwaizumi isn’t actually so bothered by being in love with Oikawa. There could be worse people. Yes, Oikawa is a colossal pain in the ass, and he’s selfish sometimes, and annoying most times, and is entirely too big and warm when he’s sprawled out across Iwaizumi’s back whenever they try to watch movies on the couch, but who in the world comes without shortcomings? If anything, Oikawa is irritatingly earnest in his private affections, unexpectedly kind when it’ll hurt you the most, and so endearingly attached to Iwaizumi that Iwaizumi can’t help but let it delude him into thinking there might be more. 

 

But there is no more, he wakes up to realize. They’ve lived together for three and a half years and nothing has ever happened. 

 

The constant touching, the private smiles, the quiet laughter they share on lazy weekends, huddled under a thick winter blanket. The gentle forgiveness in Oikawa’s eyes when Iwaizumi is stressed and upset and speaks too harshly. The sweet pink of Oikawa’s cheeks when Iwaizumi bakes him milk bread by hand on his birthdays, the way Oikawa will fist a hand in the back of his shirt so that Iwaizumi can never walk very far away. 

 

It will be a lifetime of this, being his too-close best friend, questionably attached wherever they go. And Iwaizumi will be happy with even that, until Oikawa meets a nice girl to sweep off her feet the way he’s knocked Iwaizumi flat on his ass for years, and Iwaizumi will have to smile as he gives them his blessing. 

 

Something has to change then, and he suspects he’s had this notion for a few years now lurking in the back of his mind, but it’s so hard to know what he should do.

 

Oikawa has been the love of his literal lifetime. He’s never known anything else.

 

\---

 

A week later, Iwaizumi gets his answer. 

 

ASSISTANT MANAGER FOR BEACH CAFE  
Temporary seasonal help wanted  
Popular, quaint cafe near beautiful Shonan Beach  
¥1000/hour, accommodation available  
Reach Yamashita at 080-xxxx-xxxx

 

And a week after that, he knows what he needs to do.

 

\---

 

“Hey, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, rinsing out the last of their dishes.

 

“Yeah?” Oikawa calls back lazily, in a happy food coma on the couch. 

 

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath, hands still wet, but he doesn’t notice them. He turns around and braces himself against the kitchen counter, mouth going dry when he finds Oikawa curled up, feline and happy, staring at him from the couch. 

 

Well, he could live like this for the rest of his life, he supposes. It’d be enough for him, even without kissing or touching or that particular level of intimacy. 

 

If Oikawa actually stayed, so would he. 

 

But he doesn’t know that Oikawa really would. He has places to go, Olympic medals to win, someone beautiful and patient and tender to one day walk down the aisle. 

 

“I’m moving out,” Iwaizumi says, calm and level. 

 

Oikawa blinks at him. “...What?” he asks, after a stretched silence, and now he sits up, all the lightheartedness gone from him. It isn’t a conversation that should warrant such seriousness but Iwaizumi isn’t so mired in self-pity that he thinks Oikawa wouldn’t care. Of course he cares. They’ve shared this apartment for nearly four years now, they’re best friends. He clearly cares. 

 

“I found a place out in Shonan to live in and do some part-time work,” Iwaizumi says, the script he’s rehearsed for the past week smoothly tumbling from his lips. He’s not really aware that he’s doing it though, it’s all muscle memory. He stares at the deepening crease between Oikawa’s eyebrows, watches him go paler and paler. 

 

“Why?” Oikawa eventually asks.

 

But there are so many answers to that question. “I’m thinking that working in tourism won’t be so bad,” he says, giving the reasonable answer. “The Olympics are coming around soon too and I think it’d be good to have my own business. But gotta build up experience first.”

 

“You already decided?” Oikawa asks, though this one sounds less like a question. He isn’t meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes anymore.

 

“Of course I’ll pay you my half of the rest of the rent,” Iwaizumi barrels on, unable to stand the obvious hurt in the quiet of Oikawa’s voice. “Utilities and internet and--”

 

“Iwa-chan, Shonan is so far away from school,” Oikawa interrupts, and now he has a signature smile painted across his face, eyes bright with panic. “I know you’re more of a morning person but that’s really far to commute.”

 

“It’ll be okay.”

 

“Really? But what about your part-time job now, what--”

 

“I’ve already told them.”

 

“...It’ll be hard for Makki and Mattsun to visit too, it’s a lot farther to--”

 

“They’ll be fine, it’s only about an hour more from Tokyo station.”

 

“...Did you tell everyone before you told me?” Oikawa asks, still smiling, and now Iwaizumi can hear the cold anger in his voice, nothing genuine in the upturned corners of his lips. 

 

“I’m sorry, Oikawa,” he has the shame to say, “I didn’t want to do this.”

 

“So why are you?” Oikawa fires back immediately. His knuckles are white, but Iwaizumi doesn’t see the way his fingers are clawed deep into the sofa cushions.

 

“I just need to go,” Iwaizumi says.

 

Because he’s a coward, and he wants to turn away before he can see Oikawa turn away first.

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi is only in the apartment for three days after he gives Oikawa the news. It feels like three days of eternity though, because Oikawa won’t stop trying to talk to him, asking him ceaseless questions about which beachside cafe he’ll be working at and what his living situation will be and how far the train ride really is and is he really sure about this, is he really?

 

He skips all his Monday classes so he can move some stuff in, no part of him wanting to do a long, drawn-out goodbye with Oikawa at night. There isn’t much to bring--the new apartment’s already furnished, and honestly, Iwaizumi hadn’t had the strength to pack up much of his home with Oikawa to bring here. 

 

This isn’t home. This is just a place to live. He’ll eventually have to get the bulk of his stuff, get it out of Oikawa’s way, but for now...

 

Iwaizumi hikes his backpack up higher, enjoying the midday Autumn sun. He can hear the ocean already and he suddenly wants to sit out on the sand and watch the waves. He and Oikawa had come here once in the summer, despite Iwaizumi’s grousing about summer crowds. They’d gotten hit on so many times in one day that it had to have been a new record, even worse than when they were still playing university volleyball together. It was fun, though. Oikawa had laughed all day, catching him every few minutes around the wrist to pull him into the water, or into another cafe, or down the beach for fresher sand, or any reason at all, because all of them would’ve been great reasons in Iwaizumi’s book. 

 

Fuck. Iwaizumi tries to swallow past the burn in his throat, walking faster. He blinks back stubborn tears. He needs distraction. It’s a handful of minutes before he arrives at the Thousand Seas, a modest, homey cafe with large windows on all sides, offering a welcoming view inward. 

 

Yamashita-san spots him immediately and rushes out with cleaning rag still in hand. “Perfect, right after the lunch rush,” she says, waving Iwaizumi closer. The lines on her face are deep but there’s a glow to her that Iwaizumi can see would’ve been unrivaled beauty in her youth. “Come help me tidy up! I don’t know why you aren’t in class today but I was a hooligan once too, I know how it can be.”

 

“I’m not much of a hooligan, Yamashita-san,” Iwaizumi confesses. He’s relieved that he can still smile so genuinely when it feels like all the important things are crumbling apart around him. 

 

\---

 

His new room is old but clean, a single bedroom on the second floor of the Thousand Seas. It measures the typical 6-tatami mat in area but with a bed and desk and oddly bright red chair already inside, it seems smaller. Thankfully, the floor is all hardwood, and Iwaizumi sits down right onto it just as the sun starts to glow deep orange, already exhausted. 

 

Tidying up had turned into running out for extra groceries for dinner prep, which had then turned into washing all of the vegetables in the back kitchen while their rather good-looking chef squinted at his knives and Yamashita-san squinted at him, which had then become half an hour of Yamashita-san laying down house rules for him. Iwaizumi really isn’t a hooligan, he insists on it. But Yamashita-san warned him about coming home with inadvisable pretty girls anyway, and he can’t help but laugh because she arches an eyebrow at him in total knowing, and he wonders if she would’ve been one of those said inadvisable pretty girls if she were 30 years younger and Iwaizumi wasn’t already in love. 

 

She’s really wonderful, though. She doesn’t ask him why he’s here, because it says enough that he is, despite school being over an hour away by the express train, despite not knowing anyone in the area. 

 

He fiddles with his phone, swiping aimlessly between apps. Oikawa hasn’t messaged him. Well, it’s only been an afternoon, and he’s probably still at practice, so he hasn’t even gone home to the empty apartment yet. He’ll be fine, he’s a grown man, he can take care of himself. 

 

He’ll be just fine, Iwaizumi thinks, and rubs tiredly at his face, wondering when he’ll be fine too.

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi gets to meet some of the regulars that night, relieved that it isn’t too busy. It’s already past the rush of summer so there aren’t that many people anyway, and it’s Monday night to boot. He’s still struggling to remember dish names since Yamashita-san seems to have an affinity for naming things after locations instead of ingredients or common sense. 

 

“Spanish Tango,” Iwaizumi says for the tenth time that night, and knows now that he’s expecting a chocolate dessert to appear from the kitchen. 

 

“Hired yourself another looker, did you?” one of Yamashita-san’s friends teases at the bar, and Iwaizumi flushes from the roots of his hair down to his neck, unused to being so openly talked about. Beach-living people are so different, so...Californian. 

 

“Eriko, you’re making him shy, stop it,” Yamashita-san admonishes, but she’s grinning as she says it. 

 

“Alright, alright, he’s just so cute. Did your son head for Tokyo already?”

 

“That Hiroki, he left without taking most of his underwear again. I keep telling him to bring extras but he’s got the brain of a goldfish. Tiny and with bad memory.”

 

“Hajime-kun, aren’t you from Tokyo? Maybe you can run some underwear to Hiroki-chan.”

 

“Ah, I’m actually from Miyagi,” Iwaizumi says, stumbling in his words and letting slip some dialect, and Yamashita-san and Eriko-san giggle like he’s the cutest thing they’ve seen all year. 

 

“So why’re you here, Hajime-kun?” Eriko asks, and puts up a hand before he can even open his mouth. “I already know the easy answer because I was the one who helped Aya-chan here post the job ad. But you’re still in school and can’t be lacking in prospects, so why are you really here?”

 

Yamashita-san gives her friend a gentle, reproachful shove. “Eriko. You know sometimes people just need to get away.”

 

“Way too young for a midlife crisis,” Eriko says, leveling Iwaizumi with a look. She softens though, searching his face, and he wonders how much of Oikawa she can read off of him. “Well, you came to the right place.” She turns to look out into the night, thinking of distant people and places Iwaizumi can’t even imagine. “It’s like they say, the cure for anything is salt water...sweat, tears, or the sea.”

 

\---

 

The morning commute to school is a little horrendous. The Tokaido line isn’t so bad once it gets into later morning but Iwaizumi has proper early classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Being sardined with that many grumpy salarymen during rush hour is now on the top of the list of things he really dislikes about city living. 

 

He’s resigned to it after a handful of days though, and when the weekend comes around, Iwaizumi is already much more settled into his new life. Oikawa texts him sometimes, just questions about work and nothing personal. 

 

Iwaizumi replies because he can admit without shame that he craves Oikawa’s attention. But at least he’s taken the first step toward untangling. Space and distance can work miracles, given enough of both. He doesn’t think himself particularly pathetic, but also not particularly deserving of Oikawa’s understanding or affection. He’s being selfish here, extricating himself from a situation that he’s so emotionally dependent on without talking to Oikawa about it at all. 

 

Then again, he knows Oikawa to be dangerously perceptive and aware. There isn’t anything about him that Oikawa doesn’t already know. Maybe it doesn’t matter that he didn’t say anything--what is there to say, when Oikawa has always known?

 

His first weekend at Thousand Seas is a whirlwind of taking orders and helping happy-go-lucky beachgoers. This October hasn’t been hot but the sun and skies have been clear and good, and Iwaizumi feels the tension draining from his spine day after day, despite his crazier schedule. 

 

It was hard to be with Oikawa like that. It had been manageable in high school, when the future still seemed a vague, inconsequential consideration for later. As reality set in over the years, Iwaizumi’s hunger for him only grew, even though the unchanging, steady affection of being best friends with him never did, and that was overwhelming to bear.

 

“Hajime-kun, come help!!” Yamashita-san calls, snapping him out of it. He gives himself a little shake and goes to help her with two foreign customers asking for directions and some local recommendations, and he does what he can with English, tongue stiff around the different sounds.

 

“I hope Hiroki studies as well as you,” she says when they’re done, sounding wistful. “I was proud of him for getting into such a good school but he’s kind of dumb, you know?”

 

“I’m sure Hiroki-san is very smart,” Iwaizumi reassures.

 

“You are the archetype of good country boy, I swear. I wish I had a daughter to marry to you so I could adopt you into the family. Why is your English so good anyway?”

 

“Mm...” Iwaizumi pauses, wondering how to explain it. “I wanted to help my friend at the Olympics,” he ends up saying, even though that makes such little sense. “He’s very busy so I wanted to be there for him with the little considerations.”

 

“Ah, the little considerations,” she repeats, and now she’s looking at him differently, something interested in her smile. Iwaizumi touches his own face self-consciously, always left to wonder exactly what it is that people can read off of him when he thinks about Oikawa.

 

“I couldn’t be there with him the way we originally planned,” he forces himself to confess. His stomach clenches with a long-familiar guilt. “I wasn’t really meant for the professional track.”

 

“You know, Hajime-chan...” Yamashita-san reaches out for his wrist to give it a squeeze. “You shouldn’t miss the forest for the trees. It’s the little considerations that make people feel loved.”

 

Blood rushes to his face and he stares at her in mute embarrassment, wondering what way she means that in.

 

“My, you really are very young,” she says, amazement on her face as her hand starts to squeeze up his forearm. “What sport exactly were you training in? I’m going to tell Hiroki to join, that boy doesn’t have a single muscle on his entire body.”

 

“Aya-san, please stop feeling up our new hire, I actually like Iwaizumi and would like it if he didn’t quit.”

 

“Ryo-san…!” Iwaizumi says, pleading with his eyes, but their handsome chef only gives him a sympathetic smile and disappears back into the kitchen.

 

\---

 

On his phone calendar, Iwaizumi marks down the passage of days without Oikawa. It’s strange to be away from him but it’s not as disorienting as he thought it would be. Yamashita-san keeps him busy every single day, and when he’s not scrambling to catch up on schoolwork or scrambling to help out passing tourists on the beach, Iwaizumi is too tired to think. 

 

It’s his second Friday at Thousand Seas when the door jingles a little past 11PM, announcing the arrival of a new customer.

 

Iwaizumi turns to tell them the cafe is closed, and all the words die on his lips when he sees Oikawa standing there.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. He’s as breathtakingly stunning as he always has been, soft brown hair and big brown eyes, staring straight at him. He’s pale though--there are dark bruises under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in days, and worry burns up Iwaizumi’s throat.

 

“Oh, _my,_ ” Yamashita-san says, gaze ping-ponging between them. “Are you the Olympic volleyball player?”

 

Oikawa blinks, as if he only just noticed she was there, struggling for a mask for a moment before it slips over his features. The blinding smile he gives her makes Iwaizumi want to wince; he would leave right now if he could, loathe to see Oikawa faking anything anymore.

 

“Could you be Yamashita-san? Iwa-chan’s told me a lot about you!”

 

That’s not true. Iwaizumi hasn’t told him much of anything.

 

“Your cafe’s just as beautiful as he described so I could find it immediately. I really like the fairy lights you put up on the walls!”

 

Iwaizumi hasn’t told him anything more than the name of the cafe. 

 

“Ah, but is it okay if I borrow Iwa-chan for a bit? I really want to speak to him.”

 

Iwaizumi stiffens, terrified of even the idea. Space and distance, that’s what he needs, at least until he can act like a normal friend again. Oikawa deserves none of his awkwardness or damage or insecurity--it’s Iwaizumi’s problem that he can’t get all of his feelings under control, not Oikawa’s. 

 

“Go on,” Yamashita-san says, answering for him. She smiles at him warmly, something insistent in her eyes. “Take a walk down the beach, the waves are lovely today.”

 

So he goes. Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a small smile, maintaining a careful distance between them. Oikawa isn’t chattering on about one thing or another like he normally would, a seriousness to him that Iwaizumi isn’t so used to seeing off the volleyball court. Not with him, at least.

 

“So...how’ve you been doing here?” Oikawa ventures, their bare feet sinking into cool, dry sand. 

 

“I’ve been doing okay,” Iwaizumi says. It might be a lie but he can’t tell. “Why are you out here this late?”

 

“I came to see you.” There’s no hesitation in his answer.

 

“Oh...um...” What? Thanks? “Have you been doing okay? You seem tired.”

 

“Yeah, I’m great, Iwa-chan!” That’s definitely a lie and Iwaizumi frowns at him. “Actually, I’m kind of in a pinch. The last train is totally in ten minutes or something, so could I stay with you tonight?”

 

Iwaizumi stares at him silently, watching Oikawa’s fingertips pick at the sleeves of his light hoodie. He seems exhausted. Oikawa’s Friday practices only go until 7 or so--why did he decide to come out this late if he didn’t have a place to stay? Ah, but of course Oikawa is purposeful in everything he does. There aren’t many things that are accidents with him.

 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi answers slowly, because he was always going to say yes. Even now, he wishes he could be closer. “I only have a single room though. There’s not a lot of space.”

 

“That’s okay!” Oikawa answers quickly, and Iwaizumi has to look away from the brightness of his relieved smile.

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi borrows a futon from Yamashita-san and sleeps on it, insistent that Oikawa take the bed. It doesn’t feel all that different from their sleepovers back in high school and Iwaizumi goes to sleep on Friday night aching for easier memories of the past, too keenly aware of the rhythm of Oikawa’s breathing. 

 

He’s bone-tired the next day but weekends are too busy for self-pity. Iwaizumi lets Oikawa sleep in while he preps for the inevitable early lunch rush, grinding coffee beans by hand until it feels like his hand will fall off. 

 

It’s already almost noon by the time he gets back with extra groceries for Ryo-san to use, surprised all over again when Oikawa bounds over to him as soon as he walks into the cafe. 

 

“Iwa-chan, you left!” Oikawa says. It’s just an innocent comment, practically an observation, but there’s a strange, frightened look on his face that makes Iwaizumi’s stomach knot up. 

 

“I went to pick up some supplies,” he says, reaching out on instinct to flatten down some of Oikawa’s wild bed hair. It’s unlike him to not style it before venturing into public like this. “Do you want me to make you coffee?”

 

Oikawa looks at his feet, shuffling. What is he thinking so hard about? He looks up at Iwaizumi through his eyelashes, then shifts his gaze outside to the ocean not so far away, chewing on his lip. 

 

“Want me to make you tea?” Iwaizumi offers instead, and sighs quietly to himself when Oikawa looks back with a nod. He allows Oikawa’s fingers to snake around his wrist, as he always has.

 

\---

 

Oikawa isn’t really a customer, but he also isn’t an employee. Yamashita-san ponders what to do with him but decides to leave him to his own devices, thoroughly amused by how often he squeezes against Iwaizumi from shoulder to ankle, so far up in his space that Iwaizumi sometimes has to purposely take a step away from him. It doesn’t tend to last long, though. If Oikawa isn’t back at his side within the hour, Iwaizumi will be the one that orbits near him again, a hand to guide at his tailbone, fingertips brushing up his arm or against his tailbone to get his attention. 

 

On Saturday night, she sends them out to the beach again. Something about the open water has always given her balance. She hopes they can find the same for themselves.

 

\---

 

Oikawa doesn’t leave until Sunday night but he doesn’t leave any explanations behind him, either. Ryo-san seems to have taken an extreme liking to Oikawa’s grand stories of playing for Team Japan and Eriko-san in particular is quite taken with Oikawa’s broad shoulders and long legs. 

 

Iwaizumi isn’t that interested in asking for answers. He wakes up on Monday with a terrible ache in his chest, painful thoughts of Oikawa throbbing out to his fingertips. 

 

He throws himself back into work, hoping against hope that he’ll see Oikawa again. 

 

On Friday night, before dinner rush is even over, Oikawa steps back into the cafe, overnight bag slung over one shoulder. Iwaizumi doesn’t hide the smile on his face to see Oikawa standing there, heart hammering traitorously in his throat. Iwaizumi doesn’t ask and neither does Yamashita-san. He appreciates her more than ever for not asking, because he doesn’t know what he would even say. 

 

Sometimes, Oikawa busies himself with charming pretty girls at the bar, cajoling them into staying longer and buying one more tea. Sometimes he attempts to help Ryo-san in the kitchen, though that usually ends with him being relegated to washing vegetables in the sink. Most of the time, he putters around helping Iwaizumi clean up tables or fix decorations, always eager to go with him on grocery runs or to pick up supplies at the local store. 

 

Oikawa never explains anything and he doesn’t ask Iwaizumi for anything. He seems content just to be around and Iwaizumi struggles to understand what he means by it, more appreciative of Oikawa’s presence than he could express. He misses Oikawa terribly. Even when he’s here, he wants him more than anything else.

 

By the seventh weekend in a row that Oikawa’s shown up at Thousand Seas, Yamashita-san mysteriously tells both of them that she’s misplaced her extra futon. How does that even happen? Where else would you put a futon?

 

But she doesn’t budge an inch on it, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether to be grateful for or dread the way Oikawa curls up against his back in his little single bed. 

 

December is only a week away and the weather’s getting bitingly cold on days with a strong wind, but all Iwaizumi feels on those weekend nights is Oikawa’s relentless heat. 

 

It’s scrambling his brain again. He thought he could get away, but how can he? He needs Oikawa in his life to be happy, that’s all he can believe, and with the way Oikawa is acting, it feels so much like Oikawa is thinking the same. 

 

But still, in the safe, intimate privacy of darkness, Oikawa doesn’t do more than press himself along Iwaizumi’s back. 

 

\---

 

“It’s almost Christmas, Hajime-chan,” Yamashita-san says. “My dumb son’s coming home in a couple of days so I’ll whip him into helping out around the cafe. Go back to your apartment for a while, okay?”

 

With a box of butter cookies he knows Oikawa is bound to like, Iwaizumi heads for home. It’s a cloudy winter Thursday and Iwaizumi shrinks deeper into his scarf, considering if he should tell Oikawa he’s headed back. It’s strange because he hasn’t technically moved out, so it’s not like he’s intruding. Oikawa wouldn’t mind if he was home.

 

Iwaizumi walks up the same flight of stairs he got well-acquainted with four years ago, when they went up and down a thousand times to move all their furniture. He remembers Hanamaki missing the last step and almost face-planting into the street outside. The memory makes him smile. 

 

He’s quiet as he turns his key in the lock, nervous for some reason. He should’ve texted after all, just let Oikawa know. Would it be better or worse if Oikawa wasn’t home?

 

Iwaizumi is so caught up in thinking that he’s standing in front of Oikawa before he realizes, staring at his best friend who’s just sitting at the dinner table by himself. The TV is off. Oikawa isn’t even listening to music. It’s a weirdly gutting thing to see, the loneliness of him radiating into Iwaizumi’s space even though Iwaizumi does the same thing himself on most nights. Oikawa’s spoon is frozen halfway between bowl and mouth, eyes round with surprise and an embarrassed flush slowly infusing his face. 

 

In front of Iwaizumi’s tucked-in chair, there’s the Rilakkuma bowl he always uses at home, the one they ate 40 different convenience store breads for in order to collect enough event stickers to win. It’s packed up to the edge with steaming white rice, aching to be covered in the mapo tofu sitting in a deep plate in the center of their small dinner table. 

 

Inexplicably, there’s a container of kimchi opened to the side. “Why’re you eating spicy with spicy?” Iwaizumi blurts out, at a complete loss. 

 

“I made the mild version,” Oikawa explains, face now a deep, vivid shade of red. 

 

Iwaizumi has been gone 68 days. Iwaizumi wonders how many dinners he’s missed in those 68 days. Iwaizumi wonders how many times Oikawa has thought about, cooked, set out another portion, and ate alone anyway, waiting for him. 

 

“Well, sit down,” Oikawa says, eyes now decidedly trained on the mapo tofu in front of him. “Your food’s going to get cold.”

 

Iwaizumi thinks that it’s likely all of them.

 

He sits down.

 

\---

 

It’s a week away from Christmas and annoyingly cold, but Iwaizumi sits outside on the balcony with Oikawa anyway. They’re stargazing like they have any idea about constellations and Iwaizumi laughs openly when Oikawa starts acting like he knows what anything but Orion’s Belt looks like. 

 

“I’m going to go back for the weekend after all,” Iwaizumi says after a comfortable silence settles over them, but he isn’t running away this time. “Yamashita-san says that her son is coming home for the holidays but I just worry he won’t be...uh...so...”

 

“Capable?” Oikawa finishes for him, as annoyingly intuitive as ever. He has all the words for the feelings Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to express. 

 

Iwaizumi sighs, setting aside his empty mug, drained of hot cocoa. “It’s a nice cafe, isn’t it? She runs it by herself when Hiroki’s at school.”

 

“I heard from some of the nice grandmas down the street that the owner of the Southern Beach Terrace way down the beach is actually her ex-husband. It’s so modern-looking, have you seen it? It must be hard being in direct competition with your ex.”

 

“How the _hell_ do you manage to always get gossip out of people immediately?”

 

“I have a likeable face, Iwa-chan. You should try it sometime.”

 

Iwaizumi reaches out and roughly ruffles up Oikawa’s fluffy hair, grinning when Oikawa noisily whines at him to stop, making zero effort to actually stop him. When he pulls back, Oikawa’s cold fingers are wrapped around his wrist, simply resting there, a little connection. 

 

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says gently, snuggling into his heavy winter blanket, not meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Will you...can you come home soon?”

 

“Ah.” Iwaizumi lets the question lie, wondering how he should explain. “Do you remember in high school, when you told me about the Fermi Paradox?”

 

Oikawa does look at him now, confused. “You mean about how if there were really aliens out there, they would’ve come and made contact by now after all this time?”

 

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi turns to him with a small smile, watching the way Oikawa’s eyes widen, panic already gripping the tense line of his mouth. “Oikawa.” He reaches out to cup his face with one hand. There, contact. “If anything was meant to happen for us, don’t you think it would’ve happened by now?”

 

Iwaizumi feels more than hears the sharp gasp of breath Oikawa suddenly takes, then has to look away, lump hard and hot in his throat. He pulls into himself, out of the halo of Oikawa’s warmth, too scared to look at him. 

 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he mumbles, and quiets the crushing disappointment that washes through him when Oikawa doesn’t reach out to stop him. 

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t sleep. He listens for Oikawa’s quiet bedtime routine and waits in the dark. He takes nothing, simply slips out just as the sky starts to brighten, back at the train station to wait for the first train that’ll take him to Chigasaki. 

 

The cafe isn’t even open when Iwaizumi gets there. He quietly lets himself into his single room, wondering if Yamashita-san will lecture him for coming back despite telling him to go home.

 

Overwhelmed with exhaustion and heartache, Iwaizumi falls into a miserable sleep, and dreams of Oikawa. 

 

\---

 

“Hajime-chan!” Yamashita-san is calling, knocking on his door. He jerks awake, dazed and exhausted, squinting at how bright the sun is. It must already be past noon. “You alive or in need of assistance? If you’re gonna be here, come downstairs and help with lunch.”

 

He runs his hands over his face and finds some nicer clothes to change into. He must look a complete mess. His waist is creaky as he does some rudimentary stretches, looking out the window at the glistening water. Maybe he’ll go for a walk later.

 

“Sorry, Yamashita-san,” Iwaizumi says, running down the stairs, “I was--”

 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says, half a yelp, and Iwaizumi almost falls down the rest of the stairs. He stumbles down onto the first floor’s floorboards and freezes, staring dumbly at his best friend and the painful desperation on his face, mind a complete mess.

 

“Oikawa, what are- when- why are you he--”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Hajime-chan,” Yamashita-san interrupts reproachfully. She walks to Oikawa and gives him a good-natured nudge on the hip, urging him in Iwaizumi’s direction.

 

“Iwa-chan, you--” Oikawa chews on his lower lip, then walks to him, big eyes round with worry. “Can I talk to you for a little bit?”

 

“Of course you can,” Yamashita-san answers for him, “Hiroki’s helping out with lunch anyway.”

 

“What?” Hiroki asks at the sound of his name, poking his head out from the kitchen.

 

They all swivel to look at him and Iwaizumi blinks in surprise, taken aback by how bored he looks. Yamashita-san complains about him so often but he’s completely comfortable in the cafe, so at home that it’s obvious to even strangers that he’s plenty capable. Mothers and sons, such a mystery. He supposes it’s no different from when Oikawa’s mom calls him to tell him, _oh Hajime, Tooru would be so useless without you, you’re all the best parts of him._

 

“Greet your senpais, Hiroki!”

 

“Yo,” Hiroki says, nodding in Iwaizumi’s direction. “Thanks again for bringing my boxers over the other week, Iwaizumi-senpai.”

 

“Sure, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, lips numb.

 

Suddenly, Oikawa’s hand is clamped around his wrist so tight that Iwaizumi jumps, gaze flying back to him. There’s vivid, confused rage on his face, and Iwaizumi blinks at him in a flurry, unable to catch up with the chain of events. 

 

“I need to talk to you, _now,_ ” Oikawa says, voice harder than steel.

 

“Oikawa--”

 

“ _Hajime!_ ”

 

And that shuts him up. Iwaizumi shoots Yamashita-san a quick look but hurries out regardless, not being pulled but certainly not being allowed to pull away, Oikawa’s fingernails cutting a neat line of crescents over his veins. 

 

Oikawa is fuming. He’s visibly upset, stomping down the beach with Iwaizumi in tow.

 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says.

 

“Come home, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa explodes instantly, freezing in his tracks. He whirls around to Iwaizumi with eyes brimming with tears, and Iwaizumi’s chest caves in at the sight, the breath punched from his lungs. “I could understand if it was a girl who could give you something I couldn’t, but not with another guy!!”

 

Iwaizumi stares. He opens his mouth, shuts it, thinks about it carefully, and decides he should just ask. “...What are we talking about?”

 

“Did he have to be that good looking?” Oikawa continues, and Iwaizumi is now confused _and_ jealous.

 

“Who?? Who’s good looking?”

 

“Hiroki-kun!!” Oikawa nearly yells, “I won’t be angry forever, but you can’t see him again, okay? I’ll- we’ll just forget about it, because it’s my fault for never talking about any rules for us--”

 

“ _Tooru,_ ” Iwaizumi interrupts, so completely horrified as understanding dawns on him, and he would be so _pissed_ if this wasn’t so funny. He can’t help that he starts laughing, half hysterical, almost crying with it, and Oikawa’s indignant yelps of his name aren’t doing more than making him laugh harder. “You fucking idiot, jesus christ,” Iwaizumi chokes out between gasping breaths. He steps into Oikawa’s space, right in his face, and enjoys the immediate blush that fills Oikawa’s cheeks. “His mom asked me to bring him extra underwear from home, so I did. What exactly were you thinking about?”

 

“I was- You--” Oikawa stammers, embarrassed and scared, lump rising higher in his throat when Iwaizumi’s hands cup his cheeks and gently brush a few rogue tears away. “I was thinking about a lot of things when you decided to leave home,” he says, words warbling, and Iwaizumi thinks that he’s really the fucking idiot in these parts.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tooru.” He didn’t know better. He should’ve, but he didn’t trust what he was so hopeful for.

 

“Then...you didn’t leave because you were sick of me?”

 

“I could never be sick of you. I’m just a goddamn coward.”

 

“So...then...you didn’t cheat on me?” Oikawa asks, voice tiny, and Iwaizumi has to swallow the unbelievable urge to laugh again. 

 

“What kind of person do you think I am, Shittykawa? I wouldn’t cheat. Least of all on you. Hey, were you always this jealous?”

 

“Yes!” Oikawa answers with an unashamed pout, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes, bracing himself against how easily Oikawa sweeps him off his feet. Not fair. He was just teasing. But he shouldn’t, because he gets just as jealous.

 

“Well...it wouldn’t have been cheating anyway. We’ve never really been together.”

 

“Yes we have,” Oikawa states, stubborn frown on his face.

 

Iwaizumi sighs at him helplessly. “Since when?”

 

“I always tell you that I love you.”

 

“You’ve been saying that since we were 7.”

 

“I have.”

 

“I’m talking about the growing old together kind of love, Idiotkawa.”

 

“You’re the idiot, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tells him plainly, “I’ve been saying it since we were 7.”

 

Not for the first time, Oikawa stuns Iwaizumi into silence. Of course. Of course that’s what Oikawa meant. He supposes he should’ve just believed what he had hoped for so badly, but how was he supposed to know?

 

“I didn’t realize,” Iwaizumi says, ashamed of himself, ashamed of what he must’ve put Oikawa through these past few weeks. “It never seemed like you thought of me that way.”

 

“It didn’t?” Oikawa asks, turning red. “I guess I hid it better than I thought. You- you were the one who seemed like you had no interest in that kind of stuff, so I didn’t want to gross you out.”

 

“I had a lot of interest in that kind of stuff.” Iwaizumi ignores the heat that creeps into his face, determined to be honest. “I still do, if you aren’t too mad at me for being such a dumbass and an asshole and a coward and--”

 

“Stop, don’t,” Oikawa interrupts in a whisper, dropping his forehead onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. His ears are bright red and Iwaizumi manually forces air in and out of his lungs, unable to remember how to do anything that isn’t falling head over heels in love with Oikawa, again and again. “No one’s allowed to say bad things about Iwa-chan except me, not even you, Iwa-chan.”

 

Iwaizumi smiles to himself, heart so swollen he’s sure it’ll crack his ribs open. His arms wrap around Oikawa’s slim waist, then tighten when Oikawa’s suddenly clutching onto him for dear life, and it’s a real wonder that Oikawa doesn’t complain--it has to hurt, the way Iwaizumi is crushing him to himself. 

 

When he pulls away, wanting to kiss him, Iwaizumi hears a laugh bubble out of his own throat to see the wet mess smeared across Oikawa’s face, none of the cool, coiffed ikemen Oikawa’s fans like to swoon over. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says, voice thick even as he laughs and tries to thumb those crocodile tears away. “I’m really so stupid in love with you, you know?”

 

That doesn’t help his cause to get Oikawa to stop crying. If anything, it makes it worse. Iwaizumi can’t stop smiling even as he tilts in and kisses Oikawa as deeply as he can, drinking in the heat of Oikawa’s soft, pliant mouth. 

 

Straight above, the sun beats down on their heads, and despite the chill of winter, Iwaizumi is hot all over. He thinks that may be all Oikawa though, leaning in harder to the soft yield in every curve of Oikawa’s body. Oikawa’s fingers run through his hair, gripping to him tight, and he sighs into Iwaizumi’s mouth, shuddering and mindless with pleasure, giving an indelicate sniffle when Iwaizumi kisses down his neck to breathe him in for a while. 

 

The sound of waves surrounds them, a soothing rhythm that steadies the churning in Iwaizumi’s mind. He remembers what Eriko-san told him that first night he arrived: sweat, tears, or the sea. 

 

\---

 

Iwaizumi goes home. He’s grateful that they’re right before winter holidays because that means he can afford to skip most of his last week of classes, even the professors too eager to get away to teach actual content. 

 

He’s glad that Oikawa doesn’t seem very interested in going to classes either. It takes very little for years of suppressed infatuation to rise to the surface between them. Iwaizumi is drunk on the heat of Oikawa’s body wrapped around his own, heated skin on skin, the vibration of all of Oikawa’s gasps and pleading moans tickling at his lips when he presses kisses to Oikawa’s throat. 

 

He can’t describe what it feels like to wake up with Oikawa plastered to his chest, arms unforgiving as they cage him to bed. He doesn’t know how to express how his heart drops to his toes and swings up to his throat when he tells Oikawa that he loves him, and Oikawa always looks down in embarrassment before looking back up at him, annoyingly, adorably shy no matter how well they know each other. He wishes he had the words to tell Oikawa how wonderful he is, how whole he makes him feel, how he wouldn’t trade this for anything, but he thinks Oikawa might already know what he’s feeling, anyway. Oikawa’s smiles these days could light up entire cities. 

 

After spending the new year in Miyagi, Iwaizumi and Oikawa resume their weekly weekend trips to Shonan Beach. Hiroki has to go back to university too and Iwaizumi can’t leave Yamashita-san and Ryo-san to manage Thousand Seas alone, even though he’s well aware that they don’t actually need the extra help. Yamashita-san must miss her son when he’s not there. 

 

They don’t renew their lease, but that’s only because they move to somewhere better. Iwaizumi insists that they need to move to a newer, nicer apartment. He wants Oikawa to have better things until he can give him the best of things. 

 

“We need to stop moving so much,” Oikawa complains, struggling with a heavy box of books from the moving truck. Iwaizumi squeezes him around the hip and gently nudges him out of the way, taking the box himself so that Oikawa doesn’t strain his back. Practices with his league team are incredibly punishing and Iwaizumi is ever more careful to ensure Oikawa doesn’t overexert himself. 

 

“Four years isn’t such a bad amount of time to move,” Iwaizumi says, huffing as he waddles the box over. The whole complex is only three storeys high so there’s no elevator again, and he seriously considers just donating all of their books without bringing them in. 

 

Oikawa’s hands snake around his arm, feeling the straining, firm muscle there for a moment. Iwaizumi turns to him in curiosity and melts when Oikawa snuggles up against his back, hugging him warmly, lips pressing fluttery kisses against his neck. “Iwa-chan...” he mumbles, and when Iwaizumi looks at him, Oikawa’s grinning with nothing good planned on his face. Iwaizumi sighs in total helplessness, wondering how quickly he can drag a mattress up these stairs. Just as he’s considering telling Oikawa to run ahead to do it, Hanamaki and Matsukawa roll in in a taxi, and Iwaizumi laughs at the triumph all over Hanamaki’s face to be on time.

 

“Not late, so great,” he cheers, dragging Matsukawa out. 

 

“Wasn’t it expensive to take a taxi all the way from Tokyo station?”

 

“What do you think costs more, a taxi ride or my sanity, having to drag this guy around behind me?”

 

“Do you guys need help right now or do you want to make out some more first?” Matsukawa asks, completely deadpan, and Iwaizumi walks away with burning cheeks while Oikawa squawks at their friends for lacking delicacy. 

 

“Hajime-chan, Tooru-chan!” 

 

Oikawa looks up to find Yamashita-san practically hanging out of her car window, waving at them. Hiroki carefully pulls them in beside the building and Oikawa still feels a twinge of completely unfounded jealousy that Hiroki is as handsome as he is, fortunate to take after his mother in the looks department. Unfounded jealousy or not, he steps closer to Iwaizumi anyway.

 

“What do you guys need moved?” Hiroki is asking but his mom shuts him up with a smack to the arm, her eyes bouncing between the once-infamous Seijou seniors.

 

“Oh, _my,_ ” Yamashita-san sighs. 

 

“Do you guys have any big pieces that need moving?” Ryo-san asks, dragging Hiroki closer to the moving truck. 

 

Oikawa fists a hand into the back of Iwaizumi’s shirt, so instinctual that he doesn’t seem to notice he’s doing it. It’s how he leashes Iwaizumi close, no more than an arm’s length away. “Actually, we do have this Ikea shelf that probably needs four hours to put together, if you and Hiroki-kun want to take on the challenge.”

 

“That was just you not understanding the manual,” Iwaizumi tells him, brushing Oikawa’s rebellious hair from his eyes. 

 

“You didn’t understand the manual any better than I did,” Oikawa tells him right back, leaning comfortably into Iwaizumi’s side. 

 

“Woah,” Eriko-san says, finally having gotten out of the car with a big housewarming fruit basket in her arms. She’s blinking at Ryo-san who’s pointing shelf pieces out to Hiroki, then at Matsukawa and Hanamaki who are snickering at how married their friends are, then finally at the very sweet, very private smiles Oikawa and Iwaizumi are sharing with each other. Her eyes slide to their hands and it takes everything in her not to grin to see Oikawa skimming the back of Iwaizumi’s hand with his fingertips, only to have Iwaizumi clasp his hand whole and entwine their fingers.

 

Yamashita gropes blindly for her friend’s arm, giving it a great big pinch. Eriko gives her a great big pinch back. 

 

“I think we should come visit often, Eriko-chan.” 

 

“Aya-chan...are we in ikemen paradise hell?”

 

“Burning, Eriko-chan. Totally on fire.”

 

\---

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea" - Isak Dinesen. 
> 
> I love the quote and this may be the most contrived, dramatic thing I've ever written because of it, but it's also the most fun I've had writing a fic in a while ;) 
> 
> as always, please come scream about iwaoi with me on twitter [@yuxisushi](https://twitter.com/yuxisushi) :)


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